


you're a fever i've learnt to live with

by nantes (titians)



Category: Actor RPF, One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternative Universe - SoCal, F/M, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titians/pseuds/nantes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>If RJ smiled at Nick like that, as he ran with him towards the pool - the same way they're running towards the sea now and is this history repeating itself or just a coincidence? Harry's never been good at deciding things like that - Harry completely understands.</em>
</p><p>OR</p><p>Harry has an existential crisis because Nick hooked up with RJ while he wasn't around. Neither Louis nor Zayn are any help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're a fever i've learnt to live with

**Author's Note:**

> i would like to blame daft punk's _random access memory_ , lamb and [this image](http://25.media.tumblr.com/579aabb3e3219e71851ba578b5a5398e/tumblr_mlev3yOgSm1qi1hz4o2_500.jpg) for this fic. in fact, don't read this fic. look at that image and listen to daft punk and you've got it. that's it. that's the fic. everybody go home. 
> 
> i am so mad at myself. ugh. 
> 
> i was gonna write ~canon compliant fic about harry/nick/rj but then i decided what everyone actually needed were surf- and skateboards and lamb convinced me that rj king could be anderson cooper's socialite cousin who ran away from the UES to crash on various couches around venice beach and, suddenly, everything went spiralling wildly out of control.
> 
> this is so dumb.

> "In a break Fab and Albert dance cheek to cheek, 'I'm jealous of your slow dance,' teases Julian. 'I'm going to kill you both in a jealous rage.'"  
>  **T H E  S T R O K E S , _T H E  F A C E_ ,  2 0 0 2**
> 
> **( 3 1 0 )** : please don’t let me drink ever again. i apparently told him he could stay but as there was no room in the bed he’d have to lie on top of me and he’d need to anchor himself on with his penis so he didn’t fall off.

 

 

Harry is about to give up when she answers. He sighs in relief as Gemma says, "Hey, Styles, what's up?" her voice filled with static. She must be home − her place has notoriously bad cell reception.

"I'm at the bus station Downtown," he explains. "I don't feel like walking."

There's the lightest hint of a laugh in Gemma's voice as she sighs. Harry holds his breath. She could always say no, since Gemma can sometimes be a dick (that said, she's the nicest of the group but that's really just saying she acts like a dick the least out of everyone, which Harry doesn't think is all that much of a compliment) but she hums and goes, "Alright. Gimme an hour − Lou's got the car."

"I couldn't walk it faster."

 

+

 

All he's heard about since he arrived back has been about some new kid named RJ − "He's a cute little farm boy," and "He's the new you," and Harry isn't sure if he should be offended or not − and Nick maybe hooking up after diving into the Riachs' pool last week.

Harry wants to ask, he really does. But right now doesn't really feel like the best time.

Not with his head pillowed on Nick's chest, the two of them warm and naked, with two glasses of water on Nick's nightstand, his glasses thrown beside them, only one arm folded down. He has some newspaper up on the screen of his iPad − "Why don't you get them delivered?" "Because this is free, Styles." − and with his other hand, he draws circles and loops through Harry's curls. Yeah, right now isn't really the best time to ask Nick about RJ, Harry decides.

It's still early, so he settles down and naps for a while. 

Nick is sitting on the end of the bed, arms stretched into the air, when Harry wakes up. He gives him a sleepy smile as he burrows his cheek into the pillow, breathing in the smell of Nick's shampoo.

"I've got to be in work in an hour," Nick says.

Harry grumbles.

"Sorry," he sighs, heading for the bathroom. It takes Harry a whole two seconds to follow him, placing his dog tags on the edge of the sink before stepping under the spray. Nick smiles at him fondly as he reaches passed and adjusts the temperature − Nick likes the water colder than Harry does but Harry has never been very good with compromise.

He thinks about bringing it up here. 

The shower is small, forcing them to stand pressed together and there's something about the steam fogging up the glass, blocking out the rest of the room that makes it feel personal in here. He gets his mouth halfway around a 'what' when Nick's fingers drag along the line of his hip.

Harry moves with him, letting himself get pushed up against the tiles, Nick kissing him slowly, humming against his lips. He promptly forgets everything he was going to say as Nick's long fingers wrap around his dick. 

Harry's eyes flutter shut.

"Water ok?" Nick asks, squeezing tighter on the upstroke.

Harry means to slap him on the arm, get some sort of control over the situation because Nick's playing dirty and Harry's kinda easy to begin with; he's got a practically predatory grin on his face when Harry reopens his eyes. But Nick knows the right rhythm, works Harry's dick slow as the water beats down on his shoulders, his hair flattened to his scalp. All Harry manages is a pathetic prod that's more of a press of his fingertips into Nick's upper arm, but when Nick gets his lips on Harry's neck − he helpfully tilts his head backwards, avoiding the shower gel shelf thing and giving Nick better access − he counts it as a win. Because he did _something_.

Nick murmurs, "You still with me?" Because even in the middle of something like this, Nick is a dick.

Harry nods. 

He wishes he weren't standing up or that Nick had started this with Harry facing the other way. The tiles scratch into his shoulder blades, making him wince; it turns into an awkward squawk as Nick nips his earlobe, making Harry almost slide down the wall, but he manages to regain his balance with an arm wrapped quickly around Nick's neck.

His other hand falls uselessly by his thigh, fingers hanging there, too far from the wall and Nick and everything.

He whimpers and bucks his hips and forgets about it.

Nick leaves for the bar over half an hour later. He tells Harry, "Have a good day," as he goes, something Harry's stepdad used to say before he left for work each morning. It makes something awkward coil in his gut but he stays quiet and waves from the door, jeans hanging low on his hips and dog tags back around his neck.

There's a bag of laundry to do, all the things he wore at home and brought back with him, reeking of old sweat and musty from being stuffed together for so long. He spies the bag as he re-enters the bedroom, a little bit squashed and one of the boots he threw off last night lying on top of it. He really can't be bothered with it today (Harry is kinda hoping Nick will do it for him) and turns to rummage through Nick's clothes. He ends up settling on a plaid shirt, a tear in the left elbow but nothing some artful rolling won't hide, and heads out, keys in his back pocket and spinning his phone between his fingers as he tries to decide where to hang around today; the surf shop with Louis or the tattoo shop with Gemma and Zayn.

 

+

 

The second night back from Santa Fe, Harry passes out on Gemma's couch after six beers and Thai ordered from the new place downtown.

(Technically it's Zayn's couch, a crappy one he found in a second hand shop in Highland Park, with cigarette burns spelling out 'DIX' on one of the seat cushions, that he dragged from his old apartment to Gemma's house two days after the lease on his place ran out and Gemma was nice enough to let him and Louis move in with her. It was meant to be until they found a place of their own but somewhere in the past six months, Zayn started paying half for electricity and his old couch became her second couch and even though the place is now definitely _their_ home, not just hers, Harry still can't shake calling everything within the four walls 'Gemma's'.

Old habits die hard or some shit like that.)

When he wakes up, his phone is digging into his hip and there's a trail of saliva between his mouth and the couch cushion beneath him. The light coming from the open window hurts his eyes − he groans and rolls away from it, phone pressing into the jut of the bone the whole time he moves, and from somewhere to the left, Louis laughs.

Harry lifts his head to glare at him.

Louis is wearing a duvet as a cape, holding it closed in front of himself with one hand and sipping coffee from a large, polka dot mug with the other. The duvet means two things. One, Gemma and Zayn have already left for work and class, and two, Louis is naked under there.

"I made coffee," he informs him.

Harry rises up into a sitting position with a grumble and Louis goes off to take a shower, the end of the duvet following behind him like a bridal train.

Unfortunately Louis has taken the best mug in the house.

The shower starts up, the rattle of it loud even with the wall separating the two rooms. Harry _could_ run and steal the mug, wash it out and help himself to coffee before Louis comes back but that sounds like a lot more effort than Harry is willing to put into anything right now. The kitchen is right there.

It takes him another minute or so to get off the couch. A throw pillow falls to the ground. He stares at it, mentally willing it to get back on the couch. It doesn't, but Harry doesn't pick it up either and he figures there's a pair of them in it. (He will probably go back and pick it up once he's had some coffee, a slice of bread if he can find some, since this isn't his house and he'll start to feel bad about making a mess.)

There's only eggs (which require too much effort) or left over takeout in the fridge and the bread Harry finds is stale. Someone will probably bring home groceries tonight but Harry wants to eat now. Sulkily he flicks the carton of eggs with his middle finger.

Coffee shall have to suffice.

The next best mug in the house is a white one, round like a bowl and with a handle designed for people with smaller fingers than Harry; he finds it after a quick search, checking the dishwasher first and then the cupboards. There's a new chip in it since the last time he used it, one that could actually become a crack, but he ignores it and fills the mug to the brim, savouring the sound of the first splash hitting the bottom and the smell of whatever blend Starbucks had on offer this month.

He knows his fingers don't fit inside the handle loop, but he always has to try.

When that fails, as it was always going to, Harry distracts himself by flicking through Gemma's record collection. It's nowhere as big as Nick's but she has some better stuff than her brother. At least, in Harry's humble opinion but Nick would probably tell him he's wrong.

Louis softly pads back into the room, ruffling the back of his damp hair with a towel. "Don't get fingerprints on anything," he warns.

Harry shoots him a scowl.

"I know."

Louis comes up behind him and places the wet towel on his head, chuckling at his own genius. Harry bats it off with a growl. "Careful of the vinyl," he retorts.

Louis has the decency to look a tiny bit sheepish.

"You ok?" he asks, quickly changing the subject.

Harry continues flicking through the albums, stopping briefly on Prince. Eventually, he answers, "Yeah. Good to be back."

"Awwh, did you miss us?"

He shrugs. There's an easy joke in there, a snappy comeback about Louis missing him or something like that but Harry doesn't feel like going for it. The albums in front of him aren't alphabetised and it bothers him that Vampire Weekend follow The Beatles who follow ZZ Top. He lets that distract him and stays quiet.

 

+

 

_Santa Fe never really felt like home. Sure, it was the only city Harry had ever known and all his friends and entire family were there but still. There was something missing. Santa Fe was someone else's hometown, that hometown they sang longingly about in songs named after beautiful girls, but it was never Harry's._

_Which is why, not even twenty four hours after his eighteenth birthday, Harry sits on the bus from Las Vegas − Albuquerque to Flagstaff to Las Vegas − to Los Angeles and tells himself it's going to be better here._

_He passes the green, slightly battered 'Welcome to California' sign as the track on his iPod changes into_ Pure Imagination _. It's only the Maroon 5 cover, not the original Gene Wilder version from the movie, but it still makes something warm curl inside Harry's chest, almost magical. (If he ever told anyone else about this moment, they would laugh in his face and tell him what a dreadful cliché the whole thing was, he knows this.)_

_He has no idea where he's sleeping tonight. He gets off the bus in Downtown and wanders. On the corner of Wiltshire − that's what the fucking sign says but Harry thinks he might be pronouncing it wrong − he spots a bus heading to Santa Monica._

_He grew up in a place with 'Santa' in the name, so it feels right to head to another one._

_The bus drops him next to the pier, the smell of the sea filling his nose as he inhales a breath._

_Outside one of the restaurants, a girl laughs at him. She sucks on a cigarette and the cut of her tank reveals a large tattoo up her side. Harry can't tell from this far back but it looks like a bunch of flowers; he steps closer without really thinking about it._

_"Nice suitcase," she says._

_Harry is too tired to work out if she's being sarcastic or not, and he goes with a polite, "Thank you," because his momma raised him to be civil to everyone._

_She asks, "Where you from?"_

_He steps closer again. The tattoo is a flower and she has another one, a large anatomical heart on her arm. She flicks ash off the tip of her cigarette, waiting for an answer. Harry replies, "Santa Fe."_

_"New Mexico?" She sounds impressed._

_"Yeah. I bought myself a ticket out of the place for my birthday."_

_Her voice raises slightly, "It's your birthday?"_

_Harry nods, then shakes his head. He doesn't know why, but he feels like he lied to her and he doesn't want to do that for some reason. She frowns and asks, "Which is it, yes or no?"_

_"Yesterday." He states, "My birthday was yesterday."_

_"Happy birthday. It's my birthday today," she nods. The conversation pauses for a moment as she looks over her shoulder through the window of the restaurant. She probably has a party to get back to in there − Harry was just lucky that she was nice enough to talk to him while she had a smoke outside. But then she turns back around and offers, "Do you wanna come join us? Since you spent your birthday on a bus."_

_He stutters out, "Oh, no. I couldn't-"_

_"Why?" she cuts him off. "You got somewhere else to be?"_

_Harry can't argue with that. As she holds the door open for him and he carefully avoids driving his suitcase over her foot, she tells him, "I'm Gemma, by the way."_

_"Harry," he returns._

_"Welcome to LA, Harry."_

 

+

 

Tonight the gathering-party-social drinking event is on the beach. Which is a regular occurrence when the entire town is 99% beach, but tonight it feels special.

There's a blonde talking to Gemma, leaning in and laughing as she says something, her hand gently resting on his arm. The lights catch the necklace around her throat − they cast a glow along her skin, giving her an ethereal quality as she sips her beer. The whole moment looks like a set up from Flirting 101.

The poor guy doesn't stand a fucking chance.

(Then again, they never do. Zayn calls them all 'Emile', since Emile was the first boyfriend Gemma had after her and Zayn became friends and they have been the same type of guy ever since. A tattooed poet-drummer-bike customizer-photographer-douchebag with a tonne of string bracelets around his wrist and large silver rings, who tries to convince her to fall in love with him by writing her a poem or an EP worth of songs because there's something about Gemma's tattoos and tragic rock star daddy that makes boys like that think she's interesting trophy girlfriend material. They never last long and Gemma never gets upset about it but Louis still seems to cuddle her more for the week following the break up, just in case.)

Harry looks away, shaking his head.

A song Harry likes comes on but he is too distracted trying to work out where the power source is located to do anything with the music. He's in the right mood to dance but doesn't. Nick appears by his side while he's still trying to trace where the cables go; they _are_ ages away from anywhere with power.

Nick asks, "Y'alright?" Harry blinks twice to bring himself back. Nick laughs. "Anything interesting going on in the middle distance?"

All Harry does is shrug.

Nick's hair looks good, soft and tall. Without thinking, Harry leans in − Nick starts telling a story about something Harry missed while he was in New Mexico, and Harry leans in until his cheek is against him. Nick doesn't falter, but finishes his story with a quick, "Sure you're ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Repeating the word emphasises it, that's what high school English taught Harry.

"Alright," Nick says, contemplative.

The next song is slower than the four before it. Harry wants to ask Nick to dance. But he knows the answer would be no. Louis would dance with him, since Louis always wants to dance, is constantly trying to get Gemma (fairly easy once she's had enough to drink) and Zayn (hella difficult no matter how drunk he is) to dance with him. But Harry doesn't know where Louis is. And he's still transfixed by the softness of Nick's hair.

He moves a hand up to touch it.

Nick slips into his space with a smile. Harry feels his mouth mirroring him but it doesn't last long as Nick presses in closer and kisses him. He licks the smile back into Harry's mouth and Harry's next breath comes out like a whine. Nick's chuckle vibrates against his lips; he swallows it greedily before pushing his tongue against Nick's teeth. The tip snags on an incisor. Nick's fingers move up under the hem of Harry's button-up − it's navy with white hearts on it and it has his friends divided about whether or not is a nice shirt. Harry likes it because Nick does.

His fingertips rasp against Harry's skin.

Someone comes along, saying Nick's name. Their words are punctuated with the clink of bottles in their hands; it sounds like only two. Harry takes his time, pretending not to notice them as Nick hums against his mouth. His palm is warm on Harry's neck, his thumb stroking along the curve where it becomes shoulder. Slowly, he pulls away, and his hands drop.

"Nick," the guy repeats. Harry has never seen him before.

He was right about the amount of bottles, but he takes the opportunity to bow away from the conversation. He folds his arms across his chest and goes to find Zayn. Upon finding him, he's greeted with, "Harry, this is RJ. RJ, Harry."

An hour later and RJ takes his half empty beer from him, handing it to Zayn as he wraps his fingers around Harry's wrist and tugs him with him. His grip is tight but Harry could fight it.

It's easier to let himself get pulled at breakneck speed through the crowd.

RJ turns back and smiles at him and suddenly. A lot of things make sense. Harry beams back, practically glowing with it, his breath coming out as a laugh. RJ turns back around and Harry keeps staring at the back of his head. Through the bone and the flesh and the hair Harry can tell he's still smiling − he wants to keep RJ smiling like that always. It's a good look on him.

It all makes sense now.

If RJ smiled at Nick like that, as he ran with him towards the pool − the same way they're running towards the sea now and is this history repeating itself or just a coincidence? Harry's never been good at deciding things like that − Harry completely understands.

By Harry's approximation, the water is 5601 times colder than the air. He shrieks as a wave splashes them both, soaking right through their clothes. RJ comes to a halt but Harry carefully avoids crashing into his back. (He's proud of himself for that one.) A second wave comes but only reaches their waists, the chill of the sea less this time.

RJ smiles at him again. And Harry.

_Yeah._

 

+

 

It's not the first time Harry has ever considered kissing someone other than Nick, fuck no.

Sometimes, when he pleasantly buzzed and ready to settle down for the night, Harry thinks about kissing Gemma. She and Nick have the same butt and similarly textured hair. And once or twice Harry's thought about making out with Aiden.

He hasn't, because those people are his friends. But there have been others, back in Santa Fe and in LA as well, who Harry has kissed and not thought about Nick while doing it. Because he and Nick, they're not. It's not. Zayn and Louis are a couple while he and Nick aren't. Mostly. They just like getting one another off and Nick's nice enough to let Harry stay with him 75% of the time without paying rent. And if they want to make out with other people sometimes, that's ok. They always tell one another about it afterwards.

But RJ is-

RJ is the first person Nick has hooked up with and not told Harry about. And that feels different.

 

+

 

They're all collectively wasted when they get back to Zac's place.

Burying her face in her hands, Gemma groans, keeps going until Zayn puts down his glass of water and rubs soothing circles along her shoulders. Harry gets caught staring at the pattern his wrist moves in, back and forth and loop the loop. Gemma remains in her hands.

It makes her breathing sound like Darth Vader. Really shitty, budget Darth Vader.

"That's a 'no' from Gemma for food, then," Nick quips.

RJ chuckles like it's the funniest thing he's heard all day. Gemma flips her brother off, hiccupping so hard her whole upper body rolls with it. Zayn lifts his hand away from her, face petrified like she's about to explode. "Fuck off, Nicholas," she bites out, lowering her hands and thinning her eyes at him. With her hair pushed back like that, Harry sees the resemblance. It's kinda terrifying.

"You can take the spare room, if you want," Zac offers. He always knows the right time to slip in and defuse a situation, even if it's only a little sibling tiff. "I put fresh sheets on it the other day."

Gemma smiles at him, dreamily, the way some people (Zayn) stare at Impressionist paintings (and other people (Louis) stare at Zayn).

"Thank you," she beams.

Her shoes squeak on the wooden floor as she stands.

Nick nudges Louis, nods for him to follow her but Gemma shakes her head and states, "Stay here, I'm fine." She emphasises that point by catching her foot on the leg of the coffee table. An empty ashtray tumbles to the ground as she straightens herself back up. "See. Totally fine."

No one moves to pick up the ashtray.

The rest of them drift off after another beer each; Zayn goes to join Gemma in the spare room with Louis following along after him, clutching his hand, and Nick takes the couch, sprawling out across it and leaving no room for anyone else because Nick Grimshaw is a huge asshole like that.

Harry flops out on the futon.

RJ gently knocks his foot off his shin as he asks, "Move over."

They lie there, side by side on the futon with their thighs touching. On the couch, Nick's breathing evens out and Harry knows from experience how much of a deep sleeper he is. But right now, with RJ tucked in beside him and the two of them the only people awake in the house, Harry feels awkward.

He stares at his collarbone, at the sparrows underneath and just breathes.

"Harry," RJ says.

His voice is all wrong for his face. Harry decided that the first time he spoke to him. It's too deep, too much of a grumble for someone with RJ's face. It's a good face. And it's a good voice too. But together, they don't make any kind of sense in Harry's brain.

He might be a little drunk right now.

RJ repeats, "Harry."

"Oh, sorry. Yeah?"

"They say the ice caps are melting." RJ is most definitely high as fuck right now. He leans into Harry and continues, his breath ghosting over Harry's shoulder where his collar has pulled back, stretched after too many washes and wears. He shivers as RJ explains, "The oceans are going to rise and flood everything."

Harry breathes in and out.

"This whole city will disappear. Maybe it already is," RJ says. He sounds so serious. Genuinely worried that the Pacific will rise up and swallow them all. Harry pictures it like a huge, grey-blue beast, slimy with a large yawning mouth. But he doesn't tell RJ this; he doesn't want to worry him more.

Between them, he finds RJ's hand. He runs his thumb across his knuckles. It makes RJ hum, practically purring like a contented animal.

On the couch Nick rolls over, snuffling out a breath in his sleep. Harry stops the movement of his thumb. 

 

+

 

Harry wakes up and can't place where he is. This isn't his bed.

There's a warm body beside him, an arm half tucked underneath him. Whatever he is lying on, it's bright orange and the colour hurts his eyes. He closes them again with a groan, rolling over. The owner of the arm tries to move it, but Harry traps it beneath himself. Fingers touch his back. They press down as if playing the piano.

"Stop," he orders.

RJ grunts, "Fuck off."

After shoving at him, Harry settles back down and goes to sleep again.

 

+

 

The next time he wakes up, Gemma's hovering over him with Zayn's hoodie on and a cup of tea in her hands, gently coaxing him awake. She offers the tea to him quietly. She looks kinda green.

Harry rolls, accepting it. RJ is no longer beside him. Nick isn't on the couch either.

He asks, "What time is it?"

"After noon. Everyone else has gone."

"Zac too?"

She nods, highlighting it with a hum.

Harry pats the empty spot beside his legs, taking her hand to help her down to him. The futon is a lot lower than he remembers it being, almost as if it has deflated. But Harry was kinda wasted last night, his spatial relations not so great.

They sit in companionable silence for a while. Harry drinks his tea slowly and Gemma ties and unties a bow in the strings of the hoodie. The maroon doesn't suit her but she is in no fit state to hear Harry say that to her.

She's starting to look better when she says, "C'mon, I'll buy you lunch," and rises off the futon with a small groan. Harry hoists himself up after her; he doesn't officially answer her but the fact he's standing says it all. "You can help me clear out some stuff when we get back to mine."

It's a fair deal.

They get sandwiches and a portion of chilli fries to share. Harry eats more of them than Gemma does, the pair of them passing the bag back and forth as they amble along beside the canal, but it never gets said. To be honest, Harry thinks Gemma doesn't actually like chilli fries but Harry spent so long deliberating over the menu and pissing off everyone else in the line behind them, Gemma ordered them because she knows he likes them. She lets him finish the bag.

The round the corner onto Gemma's block and Neptune bounds up to meet them.

"Tuna burger," she sighs, and Harry bends to pet him, leaning in close and letting him lick his nose. (Neptune is the handsomest pit bull in the whole world and Harry will not hear otherwise.) "Have you been out all day?"

Yes. If the state of Mr Entwistle's petunias are anything to go by. Harry nudges Gemma as she pats down her pockets for her keys. She grumbles, shaking her head.

"I'll buy him a new lawn ornament to apologise."

About half of the lawn ornaments on Mr Entwistle's lawn are apologies from Gemma. Harry's favourite is the flamingo because it glows in the dark, a fact Gemma did not know when she was purchasing it.

When Gemma said Harry could help with the boxes, Harry was thinking she had a couple of boxes that needed to be taken down to the recycling − once Gemma's got the door open, Neptune entering first and trotting off to his bed by the fridge, Harry discovers she meant he could help with _the boxes_. At first glance there looks to be a hundred, but Harry's just estimating.

"What-" he begins.

"I'm cleaning out the attic. Did Zayn tell you we're thinking of converting it?"

Nope.

Harry shrugs.

Gemma pushes a box to him with her foot and explains, "Anything you think can be thrown out, throw it out. Anything you think should stay, leave it in the box."

"Should I not check with you first?"

She smiles, "If I look through it, I'll decide to keep everything and it will all go right back up into the room we're trying to empty. Why do you think I've held onto this shit for so long?"

It's not all shit. Some of it definitely is and Harry makes a neat pile of that stuff over by the door; he'll separate it into recyclables and non-recyclables later. After he's finished with box six. Ok, so rifling through Gemma's old stuff is a lot more fun than he had initially thought it was going to be.

"Hey, can I have this?" he calls out.

Gemma shouts back, "What?"

Harry holds the painting above his head, hears her footsteps coming from another room. She's covered in dust, a large chunk of it hanging from the brim of her snapback. He stops waving it to give her a better look at it, but his arm shakes with the effort of holding it above his head. The frame is pretty weighty. "Sure. Want me to sign it for you?"

"Huh?" he replies, eloquently. "You did this?"

"It's one of the few that survived from my time in art school."

Harry looks at it again. He's really impressed although he probably shouldn't be; the two tattoos Gemma did for Zayn are Harry's favourites on him. Still, there's a big difference between a tattoo needle and a paintbrush.

He starts a new pile next to the trash pile and goes back to rummaging.

They stop for a break after he finishes box eight. Gemma finds a box of frozen popsicles in the freezer and gives Harry first choices. He chooses red.

He gets sticky, red fingerprints of the lip of the next box and he grimaces when he realises what's inside. He wipes his hands on his jeans, twice to be sure, before pulling out one of the large, leather bound photo albums. The first photo is one of Nick − he can't be much more than four but his smile is the same. The boy in the photo is pointing off to something out of frame. Harry looks away to try and find Gemma, to ask her about it, but she isn't in the room.

The rest of the photos in the album are various ones of Gemma and Nick; Nick bawling his eyes out and looking terrified on a mall Santa's knee, Gemma beaming proudly at the camera and holding a jump rope, and the two of them sticking their tongues out and wearing matching Mickey ears, obviously on holidays in Disneyworld. 

Harry smiles at each picture.

There's an album of photos like this of him on a shelf, gathering dust back in Santa Fe.

He comes to the end of it and carefully places it back in the box. It gets stuck halfway in, the angle taunting Harry so he flicks at the spine with his index finger and huffs. The album doesn't budge. With a sigh, he slips a thin one out, shoving the blue one in with his elbow − now the thin one doesn't fit but Harry isn't too concerned about that. He can always put it in another box, alongside all the things he thinks Gemma should keep. (He isn't going to bother asking her if she wants to keep these; there's no way she'd fucking throw out photo albums.)

He wipes his hand down the cover, collecting dust on his palm. The lettering on the front is gold, a difficult, looping cursive that Harry struggles to read in this light; he just about makes out one line.

"Gemma," he shouts. Her voice replies from somewhere upstairs. Harry asks her, "What happened on October 16, 1982?"

She appears at the top of the stairs. "Uh," she begins, taking a moment to think. "That's day my parents got married."

Harry flicks open the album.

Staring back at him is. Is _Nick_. "Holy shit," he says to himself. Then, louder, he tells Gemma, "I didn't know Nick looked so like your dad."

"Have you ever seen a photo of my dad before now?"

Harry considers her words for longer than necessary but she stays at the top of the stairs, waiting for him to speak. He gives her a shrug. "No, but seriously. They have the same face." When he looks up, Gemma is wrinkling her nose. "What? You don't think he does?"

"I think he looks like the two of them − like one of those face morph things."

He looks back down at the photo, runs his hands over the edge of it. "He's got your mom's eyes but everything else is your dad. Look," he says while turning the photo to her. He only figures afterwards that she can't see it too well but he sticks with it since it emphasises his point. "That is Nick's face. Without a doubt."

Gemma concedes, "I guess."

Harry knows she can't see it from that far back but he appreciates her letting him have this one.

She leaves while he's looking down at the photo again. Harry just stares at it. He stares and stares and stares at Gemma's dad, _Nick's dad_ until he has to look away, but the negative of it remains in front of his eyes and only goes away after he blinks a thousand times. He goes to close the album but gets stuck staring at it again. He flicks his eyes over to the woman in the photo; she's got Gemma's smile. 

He doesn't look back at their dad again.

 

+

 

_His mom answers quickly, her opener a breathless, excited 'Harry!' like she ran to the phone at breakneck speed. "Baby, how are you?"_

_Harry groans at the pet name. He has been eighteen for two months, thank you very much, moved out of home and everything... if crashing on some guy's spare bed and getting turned down any time he offers to pay rent counts as officially moved out. He's in a different state which has to count for something._

_"I'm good, Mom. It's good. How's Santa Fe coping without me?"_

_He fiddles with the cable of the phone as she regales him with a long winded story about Robin and some petunias he's planted. Harry makes affirmative noises when it feels right but, if he's honest, he's not really listening to the words. Just his mom's voice. Is it weird to miss someone's voice? Harry doesn't know._

_They chat back and forth for a while. Harry considers telling her what he's been up to, begins a couple of stories but stops before they really go anywhere. 'I've been getting high a lot and living with this guy I'm pretty sure you wouldn't like − he's a barman, sometimes a DJ, and I think his sister is in a ménage a trois with these two other guys but I can't tell and I feel it's rude to ask' doesn't sound like something he can say to his mom; he feels awkward just thinking about it, as if she can read his thoughts over the phone. Maybe she can − moms are magical like that, aren't they?_

_They sigh in unison._

_Harry doesn't know whether he should laugh or cry. He misses her but not Santa Fe. That probably makes him a terrible human but he can't bring himself to care._

_"Have you met anyone nice?" she asks._

_It sounds simple, but Harry knows her well enough to know what she's really asking. He chuckles lightly and replies, "Yeah. Maybe."_

_"Oh?"_

_Nick is everything his mom would disapprove of − tattooed, loud, rude in a way that's normal when you get to know him but is just fucking rude if you don't (and probably even after you do too) and pretentious. He also had no filter but that seemed to mainly be around Gemma, talking loudly and animatedly about things to try and get her to blush. Thus far Harry had never seen her so much as wince._

_"I don't know," he says. It's all he's got._

_Her voice is soft as she asks, "And have they got a name?"_

_Harry likes that she doesn't specify gender._

_"Nick," he states, then repeats it. "He's- yeah. He's Nick."_

 

+

 

Harry is totally cool with not being Nick's boyfriend. Really. He and Nick have a thing and it works. Harry is so totally fucking cool with it. Except for when Nick has sex with stupidly attractive people like RJ motherfucking King.

Fuck, RJ is really pretty. Harry keeps staring at him. It's the light in the kitchen or the angle of his jaw or something.

He tells him, "You're, like, really pretty."

It earns him a smile, all perfect white teeth and Harry hiccups out a laugh before he takes another sip of his beer. He's already reached complete intoxication, so at this point he's just drinking for fun. He stares at the angle of RJ's jaw. And asks, "Can I give you a blowjob?"

RJ meets his eyes but immediately drops them. To look at Harry's mouth; Harry isn't sure, can't look at himself the way RJ is right now, but he's probably right. He knows his own assets.

He answers, "No."

Harry wasn't expecting that one but he hides his disappointment behind a shrug. "Oh. Cool." He tells RJ, "I get why Nick did it."

"Did what?"

"Had sex with you."

Harry appreciates the fact RJ has the decency to look a little embarrassed. The blush spreads from his cheeks downwards, his throat blooming rosy with it. Harry has never wanted to bite anything more. RJ stutters and shakes his head.

The need to kiss him settles solid in Harry's throat.

"I didn't know-" RJ starts, but falters. He swallows, Harry distractedly watching the bob of his Adam's apple. "When Nick mentioned there was someone, I didn't know it was. You." He motions at Harry, like Harry doesn't know who he is. (Right now, he kinda doesn't. Beyond wanting to get his mouth on RJ, Harry feels he could be anyone.)

Harry bobs his head on his shoulders, feels lightheaded but remains standing. "It's cool," he says. "We're not. It's not- don't worry about it."

He places a hand on RJ's arm. "Seriously."

"Yeah, ok." And he drops his gaze down to the floor. His hair flops over his face.

Harry really wants to fucking kiss him.

 

+

 

He wakes up the next morning on Stan's couch with his phone buzzing on his chest. 

_wanna hang out?_

It's from an unknown number. Harry vaguely recalls giving RJ his number. (And barking like a dog at the moon with an incredibly stoned Louis and Zayn because 'Dogtown locals only AROOOOO!' but that's another matter.) He wasn't expecting him to use it so soon. Or at all, really.

 

+

 

They spend the best part of a week together. Everyone else has jobs or school or something else to do than hang out feeding seagulls the ends of burritos while they dangle their legs off the side of the pier. Harry finds he actually enjoys RJ's company, separated from everyone else. And sober.

But he feels like he shouldn't.

It isn't the season for it, but the Santa Ana's is blowing in from the north and with it comes the stickiness. Harry feels disgusting, sweat prickling around his collar and making his t-shirt clinging to his skin with a layer of it. He feels uncomfortable and sticky all over but does his best to hide it as he falls into step with RJ.

There's a corner store the next block over; they can stop there and get some water.

As they lean back against the wall of the shop, watching some kids skate along the pavement as they drink, RJ says, "I'm not from a farm, you know?"

Harry squints over the top of his sunglasses at him. He doesn't get why RJ is telling him this.

"Neither am I," he returns, politely.

It gets a laugh outta him, and their knees knock together. "I know that − I've been to Santa Fe."

They fall back into silence and Harry considers going to get a ice cream. This place does soft serve and Harry wonders if they have sprinkles. Anything to distract himself from asking, 'where are you from then?'. The fact that there's an air of mystery about RJ's life before he arrived in LA is sorta fucking awesome, in Harry's opinion, and there's gotta be a reason he hasn't told anyone the truth.

Or maybe-

No one has bothered to ask.

Harry goes with, "There's a gig on later. One of Louis' friends." He adds, "Not Stan." Since everyone knows Stan. "One of the guys from Burbank. He's a DJ. You should- uh. You should come with us."

"Where's it on?" he asks.

Harry doesn't think he has anywhere else to be, but he answers him all the same. "Burbank."

"And who's 'us'?"

He has to think about that one. "So far," he says after a few seconds, "it's only me and Louis, but we think we can get a couple more people to join us."

RJ doesn't answer. But Harry takes the fact he doesn't flat out say 'no' as a positive. 

He asks, "Want an ice cream? They've got soft serve in there."

 

+

 

In the end, no one else wants to come along. Zayn and Gemma are having some weird, semi-traditional _Fast and Furious_ marathon and Nick is understaffed at the bar tonight and is attempting to work three jobs all at once since he can't convince Gemma to come and help. There are other people they could ask, but without the three of them there doesn't seem much point to.

RJ and Harry wait for Louis to finish his shift the surf shop.

He runs fifteen minutes late, some argument with Zac he doesn't fully explain when he comes out but Harry shrugs it off. He and RJ took a walk up the boardwalk anyway, so it didn't matter much to them.

They make a weird threesome, but by midnight Harry is too drunk to notice any more.

Louis feeds them both shots and shots and more shots until Harry is certain his tongue is going to be permanently stained blue from them all. He doesn't know what they're called but whatever they are, they're good; Louis has good taste. Harry likes Louis.

He voices this at around two, as the DJ changes and a slower, quieter song comes on. RJ is nowhere to be found and Harry slips into the booth beside Louis with a sigh.

"I'm glad," Louis replies. His smile looks genuine but Harry can't be sure, not with the lights of the place turning everything blue. He feels like he's underwater. "I like you too."

Harry beams at him, lazy and loose.

"You alright?" Louis asks, tone suddenly stern and serious and that's not something Harry can handle right now. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to, nodding his head. "Sure?"

"I'm good."

Louis clucks his tongue off his teeth, preparing to say something but RJ arrives back at the table with more drinks. Harry counts at least six glass things getting placed down before he reopens his eyes and counts them properly. RJ doesn't have a tray − Harry counts nine drinks and tries not to look too impressed. He wouldn't want to inflate the kid's ego.

"Where the fuck did you get all these?" Louis asks, a scoff of a laugh in his words.

RJ gestures vaguely behind him, his wrist pivoting a full figure of eight before stopping, and he says, "From various people around."

"Wow," Harry breathes out at the same time Louis goes, "You've got a fan club."

RJ nods, grinning widely. "Burbank loves me," he confirms.

"You're not gonna drink them all, are you?" RJ gives him a shrug, non-committal, but Harry takes it to mean 'be my guest'. He selects the bright pink one, charmed by the mini-umbrella in it.

He feels the press of Louis' shoulder against his as he takes his first sip; he takes another before turning to face his friend. Louis leans in closer than he needs to, the music quiet enough that no one has to shout to be heard but Harry appreciates the gesture. "You sure you're ok?" There's another underlying question there but Harry chooses to ignore it.

As he opens his mouth to answer, RJ catches his eye and grins at him over the lip of his own drink. He tells Louis, "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

 

+

 

Louis shushes them as he takes his shoes off in the hall.

From his bed Neptune eyes the three of them but remains where he is. Harry considers going over, lying down and getting a cuddle from him but he figures if he drops down onto Louis' kitchen floor, he's never getting back up again and since Neptune's bed is in front of the fridge, he would be a serious safety hazard for whoever gets up first in the morning.

If he says so himself, Harry Styles is the most considerate human in the world. To other humans. Neptune on the other hand isn't getting a cuddle tonight.

Harry gives him a sad wave as he passes on his way to the stairs.

"There's the spare room and Gemma's," Louis says with a gesture of his arm down the hall as they stand outside his bedroom door. "Do whatever, I'm going to bed."

RJ nods.

Harry asks, "Won't Gemma be in her bed?" 

It is a logical question; Harry is rather proud of himself for thinking to ask it.

Louis gives him a look, knowing and ever so slightly pleased. "Nope," he replies. The door to his room opens with a creak of its hinges and there, spread out side by side and snoring, are Zayn and Gemma. Other than the hand he rests on her hip, they lie completely separate.

Despite the other two watching him, Louis shirks his v-neck off over his head. He leaves his jeans on and gets a knee on the bed. The mattress dips but neither Zayn nor Gemma reacts to it. Harry watches as he carefully lifts Zayn's arm and eases himself into the space between them − it's almost as if they left just enough space for him when they fell asleep together. Harry frowns. He feels kinda like a voyeur.

Gemma snuffles in her sleep.

Zayn scoots closer to Louis, pressing himself into his back.

"Close the door," Louis orders.

Mindlessly, Harry does it. It leaves him and RJ alone in the hall; Harry doesn't know what to say.

"You ok?" RJ asks, after five seconds have passed and Harry has begun tracing spiral patterns along his own thigh. 

It seems like everyone has been asking him that question lately.

"Just thinking," he replies. RJ makes a noise but Harry is too busy watching his thumbnail catch on the red of his jeans to bother looking up. "We should probably go to bed."

RJ agrees, "Yeah. Which one?"

Harry stops his fingers and finally looks up. RJ looks tired and soft, the collar of his shirt exposing the line of his clavicle in an almost obscene way − Harry is entirely too drunk for everything, RJ's skin, the question, the unspoken fact that RJ is going to follow him. He said 'we' as well, the word coming back to him and repeating in his brain, back and forth and back again as he stares at RJ.

"Don't think so hard," RJ says with a smile.

"We should-" he begins but has nowhere to go with it. He puts out his hand and waits for RJ to take it before taking the first step towards Gemma's bedroom.

Walking is good. Walking, _leading_ means he can turn his back on RJ and not have to deal with. Everything. But he has to stop again once he reaches the door and RJ bumps into his back, expels all the air from his lungs with a soft noise against the back of Harry's head. He turns to find RJ staring. But not at his face. RJ stares somewhere around Harry's chin, his throat, where his neck becomes shoulder.

Harry wants to say something, but can't find the right words.

"Is this-" RJ starts, but stops to wet his lip. He doesn't pick the sentence back up again.

"Yeah," Harry nods.

Between them, their hands are still together, their fingers overlapping one another. Harry suddenly becomes acutely aware of the heat of their palms, the awkward angle of his wrist as he stands there. All his attention zones in on it. He says, "This is Gemma's room."

"Ok."

"I need my-"

"Oh," and RJ drops his hand, lets Harry wrap his fingers around the handle of the door. It's cold. Harry turns back and watches RJ pull away − he almost crashes backwards into the wall.

From further up the hall comes a sleepy shuffling noise and the light sound of a door opening. They both freeze, waiting to see who it is. Harry feels like an intruder, a ridiculous feeling to have since Louis offered him a bed for the night, but one he can't shake all the same. He feels like he shouldn't be here. When Zayn steps out, Harry releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding in. Zayn must hear it because he stops.

"You two still up," he croaks, voice thick with sleep.

When he rubs his eyes, his t-shirt rides up and exposes a sliver of his stomach. His boxers are pink and Harry chooses to focus on those while he nods.

"Just going to bed now," RJ answers for them both.

Zayn gives them a nod, a brief, "Night then," and disappears into the bathroom.

Harry opens the door quickly, grabs RJ and pulls him in. It takes less than three seconds. 

The only light in the room is a centimetre of it coming in under the crack at the bottom of the door. Harry doesn't mean to, but he uses RJ's arm to balance himself while his eyes adjust to the dark. Their breathing syncs up as they stand there.

"Harry."

RJ says his name like a question. It is absolutely terrifying. Harry can't handle this right now. (He really needs to stop being drunk around RJ. Or being around RJ in general. Or-) Everything feels. So. Backwards. RJ repeats his name and Harry shakes his head with a laugh.

"Yeah," he returns once he's stopped laughing, like he gets it. Obviously that's enough for RJ, who crowds closer to Harry, looming impossibly tall over him. Harry lets his head fall into RJ's space, mouth meeting the edge of his collar; he bites on the skin in front of him. Just bites and bites and bites until RJ hisses and he relents.

He pulls back and sees RJ looking at him. Even in the dark of the room, the lack of light making it difficult for Harry to make out any proper features, it's overwhelming. Harry just has to gasp, like some star struck Disney princess with perfect hair. RJ's hands move to his hips. Harry pins them there with his own and RJ doesn't fight him for it; it's as much of an ok as Harry has ever needed and carefully he pushes himself back towards RJ. 

Their mouths meet somewhere in the middle.

It is only lip on lip until Harry traces the seam of RJ's mouth with his tongue and RJ responds with a heavy, quick intake of air; Harry takes the opportunity offered. He takes because he can. Because RJ whines into his mouth and fucking _lets_ Harry take. Until his fingers tighten on Harry's hips and he bends, pushing back, forcing Harry in half. He can't tell if he falls or if RJ pushes him onto the bed.

 

+

 

Once Harry gets RJ's shirt off, everything goes rather quickly after that.

He gets RJ spread out on top of the covers and settles himself between the v of his open legs. He allows himself a moment − he has been thinking about RJ lying under him like this for weeks now, half the time afraid someone will read the thoughts off his face and run to tell Nick. So, he lets himself have this.

Without his shirt on RJ is thinner than Harry had initially thought. His stomach drops as he exhales his breath and his ribs appear underneath his skin for Harry to count. He trips his fingers over each one in turn. RJ shudders, all pale skin and sharp angles. Harry drags his fingers lower, heading towards the waistband of his boxers, and enjoys the noise it brings out of RJ's mouth.

He catches his lip between his teeth and stares up at Harry, reaching for the curve of Harry's hip and thumbing along one of his tattoos. In contrast, RJ has none and Harry can't decide if he likes this or not. Everyone else he knows has at least two but RJ's skin is bare − it's oddly jarring.

One of RJ's knees tips his flank, the brush of bare skin on skin. Harry uses the angle it sets his hips to get RJ's underwear off in one go.

RJ hisses as the elastic passes over his dick.

It curves to the left. Harry wants to tell him his dick's pretty but doesn't feel right now is the best thing. (Then again, when _would_ be a better time?)

He leans down and kisses RJ's chest.

RJ sags back into the mattress.

Harry kisses lower, then lower again, jumping over a large area of skin in a very short amount of time. He kinda wants to put his mouth on RJ's dick a lot − it probably says a tonne about him as a person, but it's late, or early, and Harry is starting to move into that weird headspace of being drunk and hung over all at once and getting RJ's dick in his mouth won't fix that but it won't hurt it either.

It ends up being a sloppy as fuck blowjob. Partially because he's drunk and partially because RJ seems into it like that, spit and drool dripping out of his mouth and all over his fingers.

He likes the way RJ goes trembly with it, whimpering and tangling his fingers so hard in his hair Harry sucks in a wince at the pain but doesn't bother pulling off and telling him to ease up a little. He's kinda too far gone in giving this blowjob to care. He relaxes his throat again, breathing out carefully through his nose, and takes RJ in as far as he can.

Harry misses the hitch in RJ's breath and mostly ignores the stuttered out warning he gives him that he's about to come. In fact, he doesn't even notice RJ comes, his mouth so slick with saliva he mistakes the come leaking back out of his mouth and drooling out over his bottom lip and onto his fingers − some of it falls onto RJ's hip and _that's_ when Harry notices − for more of it, keeps sucking as RJ quivers, over sensitised and trying to bat him away.

He pulls off his mouth but keeps his fingers on him.

They make a delicious squelch as he draws his hand up, thumbing the head and letting his nail catch in the slit. RJ hisses like he has been scorched. Harry wonders hazily if he could get him hard again so soon afterwards, thinks maybe RJ's dick could even if RJ's brain is trying to get RJ's arms and hands to push Harry off.

It definitely _tries_ to get hard again, between his fingers. But RJ, pink with exertion, hits him in the shoulder and whines out, "Stop, c'mere," repeating the two words with Harry's name thrown in for good measure until Harry obeys and moves up.

"Your mouth tastes like dick," RJ informs him. Harry supposes it does.

They fall easily into kissing. RJ grunts against his mouth as he struggles with the button of Harry's jeans and Harry hadn't. He hadn't realised he was still so clothed while RJ was naked. He goes to apologise but gets cut off when RJ makes a triumphant sound next to his chin.

Harry lets his head drop onto RJ's shoulder.

White noise fills his ears as RJ slowly strokes his fingers along Harry's dick, teasing. He whispers, "Hey, hey, take your shirt off."

"Take _your_ shirt off," Harry whispers into his neck.

RJ's laugh is soft, the complete opposite to his grip and Harry feels the way he angle his wrist, his hips stuttering forward to follow it and he just has to. Has to kiss RJ, who laughs again. Fuck, Harry can taste it on his tongue, so stupidly warm and light. Harry focuses on kissing him − everything else drifts off into the distance, goes blurry around the edges, disappears right over the edge of the horizon and the only thing that matters to Harry is the boy underneath him and the rhythm (fucking perfect really just amazing) he jerks Harry's dick off to.

His orgasm takes him by surprise. He whines out against RJ's cheek, sharing hot breaths between them.

"You're heavy," RJ informs him, wiping his sticky fingers on the sheets.

(On _Gemma's_ sheets. Harry will apologise to her later. Tomorrow. He'll do the laundry and change all the beds in the house and bring her coffee in work. Or something. That's what he did last time his jizz got rubbed into her sheets, anyway.)

Harry flops out on his back. "Still want me to take my shirt off?" he asks.

He feels RJ shrug when their shoulders butt together. "If you like."

 

+

 

Harry gets up and leaves while the rest of the house is still quiet. He has no idea what time it is − everyone else may have gone to work for all he knows. But he leaves RJ asleep in Gemma's bed, taking the first jacket he puts his hand on.

He doesn't have a direction. He wanders aimlessly for twenty minutes before he reaches the boardwalk. Nick's bar stands in front of him. It must be near lunch if the crowd in the smoking area is any indicator. God, Harry isn't even sure what fucking _day_ it is.

His fingers are dialling his mom's number before his brain can catch up.

She answers on the third ring, and Harry sighs happily at the sound of her voice.

Somewhere above him one seabird calls out to another. He kicks a pebble off the edge of the pavement as he explains, "I just wanted to hear you voice."

"Is everything ok?" She sounds concerned, her tone one only a mother can have. Briefly, Harry considers telling her everything, about Nick and RJ and his own stupidity, but he squashes the thought back down inside before it gets anywhere near his mouth − his mom's voice has that affect on his sometimes.

Instead, he tells her about Greg's show last night; about Gemma falling asleep on his shoulder while they were still out in the bar after a day of tattooing pink Playboy bunnies on an entire sorority last week; about Louis and Zayn arguing for almost an entire dinner over whether or not they were going to fill the pool this summer or leave it empty again; about Mrs Malik telling him not to listen to the others when they're mean; about all four of Louis' sisters coming around and taking over Gemma's house for the day and everything else he can think of that doesn't involve RJ or Nick. Because no mother ever needs to hear about their son getting drunk and giving someone a blowjob which now has him internally panicking cos some _other_ boy hasn't told him if they're boyfriends or not.

She takes everything he says and in the end, his mom asks, "And how are you, Harry?"

"I'm good, Mom. Don't worry."

She replies, "I'm always going to worry; I'm not there to look after you." They both sigh. "How is Nick, you didn't mention him."

Harry takes a moment. Breathes in and out. In and out.

"He's good."

"Is he looking after you properly for me?"

Harry doesn't mention the fact that a. he is a grown man and b. Nick and his mom have never met so how can he be looking after Harry for her, and answers instead with, "In his own way, yeah."

Harry hangs up after another minute and a very long goodbye. He swears he hears his mom get a little weepy, but he marks that off to a bad connection.

He buys himself a quesadilla for lunch, eating it in a spiral until his fingers are greasy with melted cheese and orange from the tomato. The serviette doesn't help much, half of it sticking to his hands instead of removing the dirt like it's supposed to. Wiping the residue off on his jeans, he groans.

It's the first day in six he is on his own.

The winds still haven't let up. Harry peels his shirt off his hip, glued to him with a layer of sweat. He understands why some of the locals refer to them as the devil winds. He toys with the idea of throwing himself off the end of the pier into the sea, fully clothed, but his phone buzzes, twittering the ringtone out loudly and Harry figures it's probably a bad idea − iPhones don't really _do_ water, do they?

It's a text from Zayn. It goes _lsd u in?_

He has no other plans for the day. Afternoon. Whatever the fuck time it is.

Zayn is waiting for him on the wall outside Nick's apartment block. He jumps down, landing flat footed on the cement pavement and informs Harry, "Don't tell Gem, yeah?" Obviously he's skipping out on a class to be here. Unless she's developed an aversion to getting high that Harry hasn't heard about.

He finds the spare key under the flower pot and lets them inside. He offers Zayn a glass of water, filling up another for himself while Zayn drinks half of it in one mouthful.

"Two tabs," Zayn states, placing them into the centre of Harry's palm.

"Shouldn't one of us remain sober," he returns. Zayn shrugs out a 'probably' but there's already a bright blue tab on the tip of his tongue, darkening with saliva, and Harry thinks, yeah, fuck it, and places a pink one in the centre of his own mouth. It always confuses him that acid tastes of basically nothing.

Just under an hour later and the pair of them are lying in the middle of Nick's spare bed. Harry has been talking for what feels like forever and when he stops, he listens to the soft popping noise of Zayn's mouth, opening and closing on repeat. He spreads out his limbs, doing his best starfish impression. Harry's fairly positive starfish don't do that with their mouths but pfffft, he's not marine biologist. He grew up in Santa Fe − where's the fucking beach?

He asks, "So, what do you think?"

Zayn lifts his hand and covers his face. His words echo around in the space between his fingers. "I'm tripping hella balls right now." He meets Harry's eyes, peeking out between his knuckles. "Like, I'm really really really high."

"Is that your answer? Get really high?"

"No." Zayn sours, placing his hands down on the bed and frowning. Harry thinks he's seen Gemma wearing the t-shirt, remembers the fray of the collar next to the ends of her hair from a couple of weeks back. "What was the question?"

"What would you do in my position?"

Zayn slips on his philosophical face, the one Louis teases him softly about when he's drunk before kissing him and laughing into his mouth as an apology. "I'd do what I always do," he states. Harry waits. "I'd do me. I mean, yeah, you've gotta. You've _gotta_ look after whatever you've got going on, but still- If it's not right and you can fix it, then you've gotta do it. You've gotta do you, dude."

Harry gets caught up in the way it rhymes.

To anyone else, Zayn's pseudo-speech would seem mean. Selfish. But to Zayn, it isn't. It's just how it is, and he's good enough to be honest about it. Harry smiles at him, thinking about petting his face, and says, "Is that what you're doing now?"

Zayn slurs back, "What d'ya mean?" His nails scratch the cover of the duvet. It's purple. Harry kinda pretty much definitely hates it.

"With Louis." He breathes. "And Gemma."

Zayn laughs. "Uh, I don't think what we have going on is the same as your thing. But. Yeah. I guess. I'm just lucky that they love each other too." He stops, moving his head to get a better look at Harry. "And I don't wanna fuck Gemma."

Harry prods him in the shin with his toes. He doesn't remember taking off his shoes, let alone his socks but there they are. "C'mon," he urges. "Yeah, you do."

"No, I don't," Zayn corrects. "She and me; we're not like that. I love her, yeah. Course I fucking do. But I don't- it's not like that."

Harry doesn't have to ask what it is like.

Zayn explains, "She's my mermaid."

It's cute. Harry smiles but Zayn can't see it. He asks, "What's Lou then?"

"What."

It's more of a statement than a question.

"If Gemma is a mermaid, than what does that make Louis?" he clarifies. Harry adds, "And what are they to one another?" which makes Zayn make a noise through his nose, like a scoff but not a scoff as well. "Is she Louis' mermaid too?" Harry really likes the image of Gemma with a tail. It would be a purple. A nicer shade than the duvet. Or inky blue. Both, the scales gradually getting darker the further down they go. Yeah, Zayn's right − Gemma would make a great mermaid.

He starts, "Louis is. Louis." Harry remains caught up in the idea of Gemma as a mermaid, too loose and lax on the bed next to Zayn to find the words to ask what the _fuck_ does that mean but. Also. He doesn't have to. Cos if Zayn gets it, that's enough. Cos Zayn's smart, always pragmatic and logical and if he says Gemma is a mermaid and Louis is Louis then they are both those things and. That's enough.

Harry says, "Makes sense."

Zayn hums his approval.

 

+

 

_They take a lot of naps together._

_Not like, 'oh wow, Zayn and Gemma and Louis are napping again' but when they nap, it seems to be a collective, lets-all-pile-on-top-of-one-another thing instead of just. Well. Napping in the same room. Like today. There are at least five suitable places to nap in their living room − four, since Harry has sprawled himself lengthways across an armchair − but the three of them are all piled onto one couch together._

_The smaller couch._

_The one covered in cream leather that Louis constantly complains is dumb because he can't sit on it shirtless without his skin sticking to it._

_Gemma takes up half of it, Louis and Zayn squished together on one cushion and her legs over their laps. They could easily push her off or shove her and make her scoot her butt backwards so Zayn isn't so trapped in the corner but they seem comfortable like that; the two guys pressed thigh to thigh and Gemma's butt resting against Louis' hip, her knees bent and her toes tucked in between Zayn's leg and the arm of the couch._

_To Harry, no one looks all that comfortable. But he stays quiet. It's not his place._

_Zayn is fully asleep. His snapback has fallen over the top half of his face and he is snoring in a sort of dignified manner, mouth open and his bottom lip poking out under the brim of his hat. His fingers are wrapped around Gemma's ankle − if he wakes up with a start, he's otherwise going to throw her onto the ground or yank her really awkwardly on top of Louis. (Harry's money is on yanking. Zayn's grip seems especially tight.) Before he fell asleep, he had been tapping out some rhythm against the rise of the bone, humming something to himself._

_Next to him, Louis is mostly awake and next to him Gemma is mostly asleep._

_Even though he is watching them, hasn't removed his eyes from them since he sprawled out, Harry misses what Louis does to disturb Gemma, pulling her back into more awake than more asleep._

_She grumbles at him like an angry cat._

_Louis just smiles, impossibly tender. He reaches out and pets her hair. In any other situation Harry would say Louis was doing it to annoy her but there's no trace of a smirk anywhere near his face. It's sickeningly cute._

_Gemma swats at his arm with an open hand, her fingers making contact with his wrist with a light smacking noise. "Stop," she orders but her voice is too soft with sleep to have any real affect. "It's too hot for your bullshit, Tomlinson."_

_He snags her hand to him before she has a chance to pull it away. Harry feels himself sigh as Louis places a kiss on the bridge of her knuckles, speaks the words, "You know you love me," into the ridges of the bones; it's like something from a film. A shitty indie b-movie designed mainly to sell 80s alt rock to kids who haven't discovered the Smiths yet, but Harry enjoyed_ (500) Days of Summer _so he finds the scene in front of him cute._

_When Gemma gets her arm back, she covers her face with it and groans out, "Not right now I don't. M'tryna sleep." And she shifts her butt further onto Louis, moving herself half onto his lap._

_Louis strokes a hand over the curve of her thigh but it seems to settle him._

_Beside them, Zayn croaks, "Shut the fuck up, both of you."_

_He readjusts his grip on Gemma's ankle and turns his head into Louis' shoulder. Their breathing evens out about three minutes later and Zayn begins snoring again._

_Harry sits watching them until his left butt cheek goes numb._

 

+

 

The wine glasses clink off one another in the sink, Nick muttering something to himself as he fishes one of them out and Harry steps further into towards him as something warm fills up the air in his chest, Pavlov-like and dumb at the sight of Nick.

When he woke up, Zayn was gone. The smell of cooking filled the air of the hall and Nick had been singing along with Beyoncé. Now, the food has been eaten and Beyoncé's album has ended but Harry doesn't feel any less sluggish or high. He always forgets how long acid trips last for him.

Absently, he wonders if Zayn is ok. If he got home alright. He'll text him. Once he finds his phone.

And once he's done staring at Nick.

Nick turns around to find Harry watching him; it makes him frown, but his eyes remain good natured enough. "What's up?" he asks. Harry likes how his elbows look, poking out from the rolled up cuffs of his shirt. He doesn't answer, but steps in closer to wrap his arms around Nick's waist, pressing his nose into the nape of his neck and breathing.

He smells like apple shampoo and pasta sauce, but underneath there's the stupidly comforting smell of Nick's skin, just Nick-Nick-Nick. Harry wants to roll in it.

"S'just you," he tells him.

Once he has drained the sink and wiped his hands dry on, Nick turns around in Harry's arms. His butt bumps off the edge of the counter and Harry grumbles at being made move, made work for a hug, but Nick ignores him, wraps his arms around him and asks, "Are you ok?"

Harry nods, butting his way to rest his forehead against Nick's collar. It's not like he's lying to Nick − Nick knows Harry is still kinda high. But. It doesn't feel like something he really needs to tell him.

He goes, "Feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

Thoughtfully, Nick hums. "I haven't gone anywhere."

Nick probably. No. He probably didn't mean anything by it, but something about it stings. Harry snaps back from him, caught up in the bracket of his arms to really go too far but he makes a show of it by leaning away. Nick attempts to soothe him, hands rubbing soft patterns into the well-worn cotton of his t-shirt, and he says, "Hey, hey, hey."

"I haven't gone anywhere either," Harry replies.

"I never said you did. Don't get so defensive."

Right now would be a good time to bring it up. He has been putting it off for weeks, ignoring the RJ King shaped elephant in the room − an elephant they've _both_ had sex with − because the timing feels off. But now is good. Pity Harry is a coward; he doesn't want to hear Nick admit he had sex with RJ because then he'll have to say it too. And it feels so much bigger than it should.

So much bigger than everything.

Instead, he says, "Ok."

 

+

 

When the rain comes, it settles in for days. Louis fucks off to Burbank to visit his dad, disappearing for four days and leaving Gemma and Zayn grumbling in tattoo shop about the leak they need to get fixed in the living room.

Harry sits behind the desk, playing at receptionist while the other two eat lunch.

He hasn't spoken to RJ since that night.

"We're running _out_ of pans though," Gemma sighs, and she punctuates her sentence with a click of the red pen in her fingers, her sandwich in the other hand. She flips the appointment book in front of Harry to face her.

Zayn gives back, "My dad could take a look at it. Or loan us a ladder."

Harry considers offering to help. It's not as if he has anything better to do, something other than climbing on the roof of Gemma's house and looking at a leak. But he stays quiet. Since he isn't really included in the conversation.

"There's already a ladder in the shed."

Harry drops out of the conversation altogether at this point. Using his toes, he slowly spins himself away from the other two − not that they notice. He sets his eyes on a spot on the floor, a stain on the carpet that he zones in on because anything is more interesting than listening to Gemma and Zayn discussing ladders and leaks.

He inhales a breath and catches Zayn saying, "RJ was up there recently and he said it wasn't huge, so I'm sure we don't need a professional."

"He was also drunk," Gemma points out.

"I'll ask him about it when he gets back and I'll see if Dad will come and take a look at once it's not so wet out."

Gemma opens her mouth to say something but Harry jumps in, spinning himself around to face them again, the spot on the carpet completely forgotten as he asks, "RJ's gone somewhere?" He hopes he doesn't sound too obvious. (Then again, you can't get much more obvious than leaving spunk stains on sheets which Gemma hasn't mentioned but Harry knows she knows. He's unsure if she's told Zayn though.)

"Yeah," the other two chorus. It amuses Harry how alike their inflections are.

Zayn finishes, "He went back home for a couple of days." He stops, scratches the stubble on his chin as he thinks. "Something to do with his cousin. _212_ was playing when he was explaining it and I kept phasing in and out of the conversation. I think he said his cousin. Then again," he adds, "they're all cousins in those places."

Harry doesn't miss the look Gemma shoots him.

 

+

 

It's still raining when Harry gets home. Not that he was expecting it to stop − the announcer said it was due to stick around for at least another week.

He strips off to his boxers in the hall, leaving his clothes in a soggy pile because of course Harry didn't bring an umbrella or a suitable coat with him today. He calls out, "Nick," as he steps into the apartment proper. The television isn't on but Harry knows Nick's schedule.

"In here," he gets back, Nick voice muffled by a wall in between them.

Nick lies sprawled in the middle of his bed, t-shirt riding up around his waist as he shifts across the sheets closer to Harry as he stands, staring at him from the doorway. "C'mere," he sounds out, tone soft, and Harry goes easily to him.

Their knees touch skin on skin.

Nick says, "Harry." He shifts so he can look down on him, and Harry beams back. He can feel water from his hair seeping into the sheets beneath him but Nick is looking down at him, stupidly fond and smiling, so Harry guesses he doesn't care that much.

He reaches up for him but Nick quickly pulls himself out of the way.

"Let me-" he says. It isn't a full sentence but Harry finds himself nodding in response anyway and Nick smiles wider, revealing teeth. He flattens his palms against Harry's ribs; Harry jolts, ticklish and embarrassed by his reaction. Nick soothes him softly, his breath brushing Harry's skin before he places a kiss on one of Harry's sparrows. Harry tucks one hand in the back of Nick's hair, neither tugging nor pushing but the need to touch Nick too much to keep his hands to himself any longer.

Nick's light chuckle feels warm against his skin.

Harry closes his eyes.

He feels Nick trace over his chest, all gentle lips and soft kisses and the lightest of touches with his fingertips. All Harry does is breathe. Bites his lip and tries not to think of anything else − Nick's ministrations make that relatively simple to do.

After the incident before, Harry manages to remain completely still as Nick carefully tugs his boxers down. He only takes them as far as his thighs, enough that Harry's dick is out, and he racks his nails along the newly exposed skin from the waistband to Harry's hip and the 'Might as well...' tattoo everyone laughed at the first time they saw it. (The main problem with being friends with tattoo artists; they will insult every piece of ink you get that they didn't do.)

Harry hears Nick spit on his palm.

He has to open his eyes for that. He gets there just in time to see Nick's long, thin fingers curl around his dick, his saliva running down from his hand.

Harry groans and pushes his head back.

"Okay?" Nick asks, as he leans down and kisses Harry's stomach. His shoulder butts his hip. Nick's hand continues moving. Up and down and up and down and Harry gets stuck following the rhythm of it, forgets to answer Nick but. It wasn't a full question anyway. "Okay," Nick repeats and it is definitely not a question this time.

He licks a stripe up Harry's dick and that settles everything.

Afterwards, as Harry's breathing returns to normal and Nick wipes the remnants of drool away from the outside of his lips with the back of his knuckles, Harry reaches for Nick's t-shirt and feels glowing all over. Impossibly, ridiculously glowing with feelings all over for the man sitting beside him. Nick catches him smiling and raises an eyebrow. "Alright there, Styles?"

He nods and makes a noise. He's perfectly content exactly where he is.

"Come talk to me," he says.

Nick lets himself get pulled until he's lying flat beside him, Harry with his fingers still tangled in the hem of his t-shirt and his own boxers still situated around his thighs. He'll get to them in a minute.

Nick asks, "What do you want to talk about?"

It's definitely absolutely completely not the right time to ask but Harry has been putting it off for so long and he's scared if he waits any longer Nick will never tell him. He replies, "What did you get up to while I was gone?"

"I was at work."

"Not today," Harry corrects, turning to watch Nick's face. He catches him mid-nod.

"You mean-"

Harry says, "When I was in Santa Fe."

Nick laughs, a little defensive but amused all the same. He questions, "Are you asking if I missed you?" Harry's shrug is non-committal. "Yeah," Nick breathes out, "yeah, I missed you." His tone is light. But honest. And Harry smiles lazily at him because Nick is more sentimental than anyone else gives him credit for. Even Harry. "And you?"

Any other day and Harry would consider making a joke, telling Nick it is impossible to miss himself. But Nick is staring at him and Harry is stupidly in love with the pattern his freckles make across his nose and he finds himself nodding. "Yeah, I missed you too."

Nick grins, triumphant as the skin around his eyes crinkles with it.

"Santa Fe's kinda boring," Harry reasons. "Not a lot to do there but hang out drinking iced tea with Mom and miss you." Nick butts his shoulder off his as he laughs, and he breathes out the word 'pathetic' softly. "Shut up."

Nick feigns innocence.

"There's nothing to do in Santa Fe. Not like here." He wets his bottom lip with his tongue and goes for it. "No pretty people to distract me."

Beside him, Nick scoffs. Nick scoffs and looks away. Stares off into the corner of the room to ask, "What do you want me to say?" This time, Harry shrugs and reaches for Nick's shirt, rolling onto his side as he wraps his fingers in the soft, black cotton. 

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" Harry counters. "You always tell me."

Nick shrugs. He asks, "How long have you known?"

"Since I pretty much stepped off the bus. Zayn told me. And Aiden. And Louis. Danny as well." He pauses, breathes. "Everyone kinda did. Except-"

"Except Gemma."

"Yeah." And Harry nods. "She doesn't really like talking about your dick."

Nick laughs, solid and warm and Harry has to wonder why it ever took them this long to talk about it. "What about you?" Nick asks. Harry frowns, not understanding what he means. "When did you hook up with RJ?" Harry falters for a moment; falters and stutters out a breath as he lies there, boxers still around his thighs and his fingers gripping the front of Nick's t-shirt. Nick says, "I'm not dumb."

 

+

 

He isn't expecting anyone to be up, least of all to find Gemma sitting on the porch, trying to get Neptune to come over to her. She waves at Harry, it makes all her bracelets jangle together. The rain dripping off the edge of the roof harmonises with the noise.

"Smoke?" she offers as he takes a seat next to her.

He declines.

"On your own tonight?" he asks while shaking the moisture out of his hair.

He should probably know the answer; he spent the whole day sitting in the tattoo shop with her so it must have come up but Gemma's nice enough to let that slide as she says, "Yeah, Just me and Tuna Burger tonight. Zayn's hanging out with Danny. Maybe Aiden too, if he was free. He'll be back tomorrow, with Louis."

Harry nods.

"What about you? Thought you went home to Nick."

"I did," he states. "He says 'hi'."

Gemma looks doubtful, yet remains quiet on the matter. "And you just decided to leave again. At," she checks her watch, "12:48am."

"Wanted to go for a walk."

"In the rain?"

Harry shrugs. Neptune trots back over to them, his bright purple tennis ball clutched in his mouth. He deposits it at Harry's feet. Gemma tells him, "You're all wet, Tuna," but he ignores her, currently too busy watching Harry pick up the ball. He shifts it from hand to hand, his fingers getting sticky with dog drool; he doesn't throw it, despite Neptune excitedly wiggling in front of him.

"Just needed some air."

Gemma tugs her dog closer to her. She pats him with the edge of her cardigan and he licks her palm. Neptune settles between them, tail thumping contentedly off the wooden step as she pets him, and Gemma says, "Still haven't told him about RJ then?"

Harry sighs, "I did."

Neptune sneezes, helpfully. Harry has to agree with him.

"It feels so dumb."

"What does?"

He makes a face, "Everything. Is it weird I want to fuck two people?"

She laughs. Gemma laughs and it is so like her older brother's it's frightening. Sure, they share some similar features − dark hair and dark eyes and freckles and the same sort of sense of humour − but Harry can usually ignore the fact they're related. But when it is pointed out to him again, it scares him how alike they actually are. It should probably be more awkward, discussing this sort of thing with _Nick's sister_ of all people, but.

Harry doesn't jinx it by thinking too hard about it.

"No," she eventually answers. "You're, what? 19 years old. It's perfectly normal."

"I like your brother a lot."

Gemma's nose wrinkles when she grimaces. "Gross. No one likes Nick," and suddenly she's 12 years old again and Harry just has to laugh. "He's all. Nick-like."

"I guess he's a little weird," Harry agrees.

"A little? No, Nick is a lot weird," she amends. "Just ask anyone he went to high school with."

He concedes, "Ok, ok, Nick's totally fucking weird. But I like him." Gemma doesn't jump to fill the silence, so Harry does, with, "And RJ."

She makes a thoughtful noise. "Do you actually like RJ or are you just in it for his dick? Thanks for having sex in my bed, by the way. I've been meaning to say that." She looks at Harry as Neptune lies between them and with a completely serious face, Gemma asks, "Was that your semen or RJ's?"

"Mostly mine." Since he's being honest, he tells her, "Most of RJ's ended up on RJ. Dried in before we fell asleep."

"Stop having sex on my bed."

Harry neither agrees nor declines her order. Cos he doesn't know when he's going to get laid again and if Gemma's bed is the only available bed, well. He's going to use it. But if he has other options about where he's going to get some, then he'll be nice and head for elsewhere.

"Now, answer the question."

"Which one?"

Gemma thins her eyes at him, but there's a hint of a smile around her mouth at the same time. "Do you like RJ?"

"I think so," Harry admits. "I don't know him very well but. I want to." He pauses, inhales a breath.

Neptune appears to have fallen asleep.

Harry says, "Did you know he's not actually from Iowa or Ohio or wherever people think he's from?"

"Of course." Harry makes a surprised noise without meaning to. "He's from New York."

"How do you-"

Gemma replies, "Other than the fact it's hella obvious he's from the Upper East Side − that boy is a walking Tommy Hilfiger advert − I asked him. First night Zayn introduced him, I said 'tell me about yourself' and he _did_."

"But, you. There's that. You-" Harry trips over his words. "That joke, about him being a farm boy. Do the others not know?"

She shrugs. "Zayn definitely does, he's just a dick. And Aiden was right beside me when RJ was telling me about his family's house in the Hamptons, so I guess he does too. Although he was really fucked up that night, so maybe he doesn't. And Louis probably does, if Zayn does." Harry hopes he doesn't look too confused. "I think they just like teasing RJ cos he looks like a corn-fed Missouri boy, the only one who escaped the meth lab explosion that maimed the rest of his high school group by running away to Southern California."

Harry has never heard _that version_ of the joke but it doesn't sound like something Gemma would make up on the spot.

She ends with, "It's amazing what you can learn about someone just by asking."

Her words feels barbed. Gemma might be the nicest one of the lot of them but sometimes. Sometimes she is the biggest dick of the lot too.

Harry agrees, "Yeah."

 

+

 

RJ comes back and with him comes the sunshine again and Harry doesn't know if that's a huge fucking sign from the universe or if it's a minor coincidence but he accepts both graciously.

Louis' mom, Jay, throws a barbecue to celebrate the return of good weather, tells Louis to invite them all. Harry is one of the first to hear about it. Louis adds, "I don't have RJ's number, so will you text him." Like it is now a given that RJ will even want to come.

There was no precise marker of when it was decided that RJ was their friend, but Harry likes it.

He gives Louis a nod, promises he will, and on Saturday RJ arrives at the Tomlinson household − "So this is Mar Vista?" "Don't act like you've never been here before." "Venice High is technically in Mar Vista," adds Gemma, diffusing the rising situation and ushering RJ inside − with a lemon meringue pie and a cigarette tucked behind his ear. His snapback is red. Harry feels himself smile at the sight of him.

They end up doing the dishes together. Zayn and Louis took over the grilling, breaking into a row over keeping the meat completely separate from the vegetables, while Nick was in charge of the music − "Nick was such a fucking loser in high school. He was this scabby, skinny geek who wanted to be a DJ and all he talked about was music; all these bands no one cared about and the bands they were influenced by and all their contemporaries," Gemma had told Harry once, one night while tipsy and a little handsy and now, every time Nick talks about music or gets near stereo equipment, Harry thinks of that line and what Nick was like in high school and he smiles because Nick is still the same, the same skinny geek underneath his leather jacket and large quiff, but wholly less scabby − and Gemma alternated between holding Bee and Daisy on her hip as she tried to talk Lottie out of getting a tattoo from anywhere other than her shop, with Jay nodding next to her, which left the dishes for RJ and Harry, both of them offering at the same time since everyone else had been seen to do something.

"You having a good time?" Harry asks, waiting for RJ to hand him a plate or a fork so he can at least pretend he is one-tenth of a useful human.

RJ shrugs. "Yeah."

Harry flicks some water at his shirt. RJ stares at the pattern it makes across his chest and sighs, shaking his head. In his hands, he holds a soapy glass. Harry tips his wrist with his fingers and moves to take it from him. He succeeds. RJ sighs again. He bumps Harry with his hip in retaliation − it makes him laugh.

"I'm trying to help," he counters.

RJ hums out a groan from low in his chest. He goes back to washing a plate and ignores Harry. Together, they get the rest of the dishes done in silence. Harry kinda likes it, just the two of them in the kitchen and noises of everyone else, far away in the garden as the sun begins to set and Nick starts up a softer, slower playlist.

He goes, "Nick told me about you two."

As he drains the sink, RJ eyes him quietly. It's been. A long fucking time since it happened, months since Harry was back in Santa Fe and having baked ziti with his family and RJ's face says that. It says 'why now?' and 'what do you want from this?' and a tiny bit of 'that's nice, good for you'. And Harry just says RJ's name.

"Harry," RJ counters.

Harry takes a step closer to him. "What?" he asks, the word ghosting over the corner of RJ's mouth and his hand finds the slope of his neck to shoulder. Harry settles in RJ's space and he thinks he hears RJ say his name again but outside someone laughs, sounds a lot like Stan but might also be Louis and Harry gets distracted by that. He comes back to the moment as RJ says Nick's name, soft and low as their noses knock together. "I know," he replies but it doesn't matter. Because RJ's hand is on his hip, thumb tucking underneath the hem of his shirt. Harry says it again, just because. "I know."

RJ kisses him slowly at first. Gently shifts the final few millimetres to Harry's mouth and bumps their mouths together. 

Harry catches his breath between the first kiss and the next.

This time it's harder, a little faster and Harry pushes back against his mouth until RJ whines. Harry likes the way the sound gets trapped between them and he steals it, swallows in RJ's exhale with his tongue before driving up on his toes and taking over. RJ's hips bump backwards against the edge of the sink. He makes a startled little noise of pain but.

But Harry doesn't say sorry.

Instead, he keeps kissing him. Moves kisses along the sharp angle of his jaw, licking the skin and kissing the space where it becomes chin because it's there and it makes RJ say, "Fuck," then repeat it, followed by Harry's name and. Harry likes the way RJ says his name.

They pull apart slowly at the sound of the screen door sliding open fully and footsteps move along the wooden floor.

Lottie appears under the arch into the living room, her brother's hoodie around her shoulders and a patch of sunburn across her nose, underneath her sunglasses. She looks over the top of them and asks, "You guys done?" They just about manage to nod. Her eyebrows raise and Harry thinks to himself there was _no way_ he would have been as intuitive at her age. "Right."

"Are you ok?" Harry asks, after five beats have passed and things have taken a shift from slightly awkward to almost embarrassing. "Anything we can do for you?"

She says, "Oh. Mom said there's ice cream in the freezer."

"I'll get bowls."

RJ goes, "Yeah." And slowly makes to exit the room.

Harry watches him as Lottie rabbits on about not enough spoons but she's ok with using a fork but Harry isn't really listening. If he didn't know better, he'd say RJ was blushing as he slipped around the corner.

 

+

 

The barbecue ends and Harry goes back to Nick's with half an apple tart − Jay was adamant he take it, stating, "Your collarbones are starting to resemble antlers," and Louis rolled his eyes and sighed, "God, Mom." − and slight sunburn across his shoulders.

Already getting two plates down from the cupboard, Nick asks, "Can I have some?"

Harry goes, "Yeah, Nick. Yeah, you can." Then adds, "I kissed RJ."

Nick just gives him a look.

"I know."

 

+

 

Monday, he spends the day flicking through the classified section of the paper and taking up one couch in the tattoo shop's waiting room. A bottle dyed redhead asks him, "Your sparrows, you get them done here?" and it takes him a good minute to reply. She looks disappointed and Harry goes back to his newspaper.

He buys Gemma a sandwich at lunchtime, then sighs as she gives half to Zayn when he arrives in for his shift.

Tuesday blends into Wednesday which suddenly becomes Thursday and before Harry has time to ask someone what's going on, it's Friday and they're all going to the Riachs' house for beer and pizza and videogames. Gemma brings some tall, dark haired guy who introduces himself as Francois; he takes the chair Louis usually takes, which means everyone else has to budge up one more than usual and although Zayn didn't like him before (because he never likes the guys who like Gemma) he _definitely_ doesn't like him now.

Harry gets squished in next to RJ on the two-seater and forgoes a controller so he can play.

RJ grins at him. "Thanks."

"Welcome," Harry replies as he leans back into the cushions. The problem he has always found with this couch is it is too comfortable. Playing videogames − especially against Zayn, who takes them to a whole new level of competitive − is difficult enough with the heat and the alcohol without the couch making Harry want to curl into a ball and sleep until the pizza gets here. "Go left," he instructs.

On screen, RJ's character goes left.

He doesn't say thanks this time but Harry's ok with it. He lets himself get distracted by Stan rolling a joint, his pink tongue poking out from between his lips as he wets the skin. 

 

+

 

"Harry, shhhh," Louis soothes, his palms flat on either side of Harry's face. "It's alright, you're right here."

He isn't too sure where 'here' is, but Louis looks so steadfast and solid in front of him, Harry goes with it and nods. Then again, Harry can't really remember leaving the Riachs' place so not knowing where he is right now is merely just par for the course. There must have been something in that weed Stan brought. Or. Maybe it wasn't weed at all?

Louis instructs, "I'm going to get you some water. You stay right here."

As soon as his hands have left Harry's skin, he misses them. He wants to say, "Fuck the water," and pull Louis onto the dance floor since the music is good and loud and throbbing through every cell in his body, but Louis has already gone and Harry. Can't really remember how to use his voice.

Someone knocks against him, makes him totter back a step and he wants to yell at them. Because Louis told him to stay and now he's, like, a whole two feet away from where he was. But when he turns, glaring, to look at the person, he sees Danny and breaks into a smile because Danny is great and Danny didn't mean to make him move.

"Y'alright, Styles?" he asks.

Harry nods. He keeps smiling.

Danny stays with him, talking to him until Louis comes back. He has Gemma in tow and he's telling her, "He was a dick anyway," in a voice Harry has never heard Louis use before. He hands a plastic cup of water to Harry but remains focused on Gemma.

Her mascara has run down her nose on the left side.

Harry reaches out and pets her hair. Danny has to swoop in to prevent the cup from falling to the floor, his shoulder knocking into Harry's chest but Harry keeps going, pets Gemma's hair as Louis says something in the softest, most reassuring voice Harry has ever heard him use. He looks down and sees Louis' hand around her waist. Holding her in. And that's. Good. Harry smiles at it and keeps petting.

The four of them stay in a bundle for what feels like forever.

Danny doesn't leave Harry's side. Occasionally he tips him on the shoulder, makes him drink more water which makes Harry frown because can't he see he's trying to watch Louis and Gemma being adorable but Louis did get him the water in the first place and Danny is only being a hella good friend, so he begrudgingly drinks it until the cup is drained.

He smacks his tongue around his mouth and turns to Danny.

Louis turns Gemma a little more to him and Harry's hand falls away from her hair. It hits Danny on the way down and. Fuck. Harry hadn't even noticed he had been effectively cutting Danny off from the group like that. "Sorry," he says and HEY! there's his voice. "Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry."

He must say it fifty times, because Danny tells him, "It's alright. Are you ok?" about sixty times to make up for it.

He says yes. Because he is.

When he looks back at Gemma and Louis, the two of them are hugging. Gemma has to bend to make up their height difference − it's not generally much but in her heels she towers above him − and Louis' ring is caught in her hair, looks like it is going to hurt when he tries to get his hand out, but they don't detract from the cuteness of the moment.

Harry feels himself lean into Danny.

He's nice enough − or maybe Harry's just too high − to let him stay. Harry hums contentedly. He means to ask him quietly, means to gently ask Danny this question but somewhere in the middle of the thrum of the bass line and Harry's current inability as a human, he ends up yelling, "Do you know where Nick is?" Right into Danny's face.

Danny just sighs while wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulders and says, "C'mon, we'll go and find him."

On their way through the crowd, Harry spots Greg talking to some blonde and he turns to Danny − as best he can without headbutting him in the jaw − and asks, "Are we in Burbank?"

Laughing softly, Danny shakes his head. "No, we're still in LA."

"Good," Harry decides, nodding his head. When he stops, a rush of dizziness takes over. Yeah. He shouldn't have done that. He spies Zayn, sipping a beer straight from the bottle, and next to him is- "RJ!" Harry almost elbows a girl in the face extending his arm out towards him; Danny holds him up and apologises sheepishly to her and her friends. "Gemma's sad," is the first thing he informs the pair upon reaching them.

They break out of their conversation − it looked pretty intense too − and stare at him. "What?" Zayn replies.

"Yeah, she seemed pretty upset," Danny concurs. "Louis's got her but maybe you should go find 'em."

Nodding, Zayn sounds out, "Yeah." He turns back to RJ but looks passed him, and tells Nick, "Your sister's sad." Harry hadn't noticed him there before. His face breaks into a wide grin and he reaches out to touch him, wrist scuffing off RJ's arm as he stands, caught in the middle. "Which way are they?" Zayn asks Danny.

Once he's positive Harry is balanced − it was touch and go there for a moment, but now he's got one hand on Nick and one hand on RJ and he has no plans to move anywhere else − Danny lets him go and gives his full attention to Zayn. "Uh, over towards the bar."

Harry keeps smiling at the other two.

Zayn's hand claps down on his shoulder but he's talking to Nick, maybe a little bit to RJ as well. "I'm gonna go see if everything's ok − have you got this?" It takes Harry a good few seconds to realise he's 'this'; he would scowl but he's too busy smiling because Nick has a face and RJ has a face and he's sorry Gemma's sad but he just has to smile.

Nick gives him a grin − Zayn, not Harry and Harry almost frowns about that − and says, "Yeah, yeah, he's good here. Go be a knight in shining armour."

Zayn salutes him before he turns, tells Danny, "Lay on, Macduff," and gives him a shove through the crowd.

Harry meets RJ's eyes and goes, "Louis got me water, but then Gemma was sad."

"And how are you?"

"Excellent. Wonderful."

RJ laughs, his head thrown back the tiniest amount so his throat catches the pink lights of the place. Harry wants to bite the column of his neck, especially when it bobs like that over the delicious noise RJ's making. He goes for it, gets his teeth on RJ's skin and soothes with his tongue. He hears his name somewhere above him. Pulling back, RJ looks at him, worried.

Harry shakes his head.

"No, no," he states, adamant, "no. It's ok." And he squeezes his hand on Nick's arm for emphasis. "I want to."

RJ bites his lip. Harry surges back in, his nose knocking off RJ's jaw. He laughs at his own incompetence and repeats, "It's ok."

Nick's hand moves to the small of his back, his palm wide and warm where Harry's sweaty, his shirt sticking to him. Harry really wants someone to kiss him. But Nick seems to be pulling him back from RJ and RJ. Looks like so confused Harry feels sorry for him. Maybe he's about to cry. Or maybe Harry is. He can't tell right now.

"Kisses," he says, now facing Nick. He gets his mouth on him, bumps their lips together so hard their teeth clink but he just. Needs to be kissing someone. And RJ won't, but Nick will. Nick will and does and breathes out soft 'alright alright alright's against Harry's lips in between kisses. Harry's hand is still on RJ, still clutched around his wrist but RJ hasn't moved and.

He pulls away from Nick's mouth, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue and turning to RJ, Harry tells him, "You should kiss him."

RJ hesitates.

"Please?"

In front of him, Nick reassures RJ, "It's alright," and Harry just. Sags against him, sighing in thankfulness that Nick gets it. "If you want to."

Harry begins, "I want-" but drops it, realises a heartbeat into the sentence Nick's words weren't for him. He watches RJ nod, slowly pushing himself forwards until he's sharing his breath with Nick. Harry smiles, humming out something contented and stupidly fond into Nick's chest through his nose when they start to kiss. RJ and Nick are kissing and Nick's hand is on Harry's back and Harry's hand is around RJ's wrist and he doesn't know why it's taken them so long to get here but it's happening and.

It's good.

 

+

 

Harry wakes up. It's too hot and he's still in his jeans and there's an arm around his waist and a knee digging into the back of his thighs and he needs to move. He needs to get out of bed, get out of his clothes and find something to drink. The inside of his mouth feels like he has been eating cat litter and although he doesn't remember parts of last night, he can guarantee he wasn't eating cat litter. He doesn't even know anyone who owns a cat.

Except for Nana. But she's in her retirement condo in Port Charlotte with Mike.

Stretching his arms above his head, he pushes the thoughts of his grandmother and her boyfriend out of his head and grumbles. His t-shirt is halfway up his stomach, Nick's large hand on his skin. Harry carefully navigates removing his jeans without disturbing the other two. If he has to leave his shirt on, so be it, but the jeans need to come off.

By the time he's kicked them off the bed, RJ is awake behind him.

"Mornin'," he grumbles into Harry's neck. Harry tosses his arm around his shoulders and pulls him in. The angle isn't the best, Harry's shoulder letting him know it's not cool but RJ leans in and kisses him and Harry deems the slight awkward pain worth it. "This ok?" he asks.

Harry nods.

Sure, they've got morning breath and everyone's mostly dressed and on top of the covers and it looks like they're in Gemma's room but yeah. Yeah, it's ok.

Nick's fingers tighten on Harry's hip. He grunts some form of greeting into the pillows before rolling over and looking at the other pair. Harry feels RJ smile. Carefully, he pulls Nick in − Nick's chin butts Harry's cheek but it's ok. It's ok because Harry is ok watching them kiss like that above him.

"Take your shirt off," he orders, unsure of who he's speaking to. RJ complies, letting Harry's arm drop away from him but Nick takes the opportunity and space to kiss Harry instead. Harry gets a hand on his neck and whispers, "You ok?" against his lips.

He strokes his fingers up Nick's neck as Nick replies, "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

RJ comes back, rid of his shirt and jeans and boxers nicely tented over his morning wood. Harry smiles lazily at him over Nick's shoulder and pulls him down onto the bed. "S'pose I should take my jeans off then," Nick remarks.

Harry thinks that's a marvellous idea. He slips his hand up RJ's thigh as Nick scoots off the bed and removes his jeans, bundling them into a ball and throwing on top of Harry's. He comes back and Harry gets a hand underneath his shirt traces patterns on his skin; Nick dips his head and bites just underneath Harry's right sparrow in return.

He groans, letting his eyes fall shut. His fingers stutter along RJ's skin, finding the hem of his boxers and dipping underneath. He hears RJ move but gasps when he feels his lips on his throat, a lot closer than he thought he was. His wrist bumps RJ's dick. "Wait, wait," he sounds out, opening his eyes to find RJ's face above his. Harry moves to sit up but Nick bites his hip. He falls complicit back onto the bed.

"Move," Nick breathe against his skin.

RJ kisses him, lip on lip on lip on lip and Harry sighs and lets Nick shift him where he wants.

He whimpers against RJ's mouth as Nick rises off of him. RJ returns, "It's ok," softly, repeats it three more time, all rushed out on one breath. Harry has to agree. He wraps his fingers properly around RJ's dick, mouth breaking into a smile as RJ's breath hitches, a quiet whine to it and Harry slips his tongue in between his lips. RJ works his hips with him and gently, Nick moves him so he sits between Harry's leg.

Harry thinks Nick has all the best ideas.

Once he's settled, RJ bumps their hips together but. The angle isn't right. His hand can't. Again, Nick and all his brilliant ideas come to the rescue. He pulls RJ's boxers down; it frees Harry's wrist up and. Yes. This is much better. RJ drops his head onto Harry's shoulder, open mouth panting as Harry builds up a proper rhythm and Harry leans his head towards Nick.

"Thank you," he smiles.

Nick grins back, all wolfish teeth and accomplishment. Harry pulls him in to kiss him.

RJ's hand lands with a smack on Nick's stomach. It sounds like it hurt but Nick remains unaffected. Into Harry's chest, he asks, "Can I?" Nick has to break away from Harry's mouth to answer, break away from their lazy, gentle kissing to face RJ.

"Go for it," he replies. RJ breathes out a sigh of relief, a soft 'thank you' as if he were expecting Nick to answer in anything but the affirmative.

Trapped underneath them both, Harry watches as RJ's fingers pull Nick's boxers down his hips. His dick springs free, shiny at the tip. Without meaning to, Harry licks his lips. RJ nips at his collarbone − Harry hadn't realised he'd stopped jerking him off. "Sorry," he apologises, words straight into RJ's hair. He feels a small 'should be' against his skin and laughs.

RJ has to drop to his elbow, now unable to use both hands for balance.

Harry can't tell if RJ's trying to match his rhythm or if he's trying to match the one RJ's started.

His skin feels hot, blooming with it all over and he laughs, Nick's mouth hovering over his again as he thinks of how warm he was when he woke up and how he wanted nothing more than to be cool. So much for that. Nick asks, "Alright there?" He doesn't bother waiting for an answer and kisses Harry again.

As much as he enjoys it, Harry thinks it's monstrously unfair that they are both getting handjobs and neither Nick nor RJ have so much as offered to touch his dick yet. He sighs, whining into it but Nick doesn't pull away. He keeps kissing Harry, breath catching at one or two points about the same time RJ quietly moans into Harry's skin. "Fuck," he says. Harry thinks yeah. Yeah, they should definitely do that at some point. But could someone, please, anyone touch his dick right now.

With RJ's mouth on his chest and Nick's lips on his, Harry can't see whose hand it is but just when he's actually given up all hope of ever getting off in this situation − beyond rubbing himself off on RJ's hip, which is a good option since RJ has wonderful hips − fingers cup him through the material of his boxers and Harry pulls away from Nick, breathing out a shocked noise from somewhere deep in his chest.

"Shit," he says. Nick chuckles.

Unsurprisingly RJ comes first. He warns Harry with a bite and whine which isn't the best warning he's ever gotten but Harry is kinda stupidly into how RJ goes loose and smiley after he comes so he wipes his fingers on his own hip and gently pats RJ's stomach as he comes down, hand pretty much lodged between the pair of them. RJ's recovery period is practically non-existent as he shifts down the covers and gets his lips on Harry's hip, right where he wiped off a minute before and Harry just. Has to look. He looks down and there's RJ's mouth, his tongue pink and bright against the white of Harry's skin and. Fuck. He licks up his _own_ spunk from Harry's hip.

Harry nearly headbutts Nick, throwing his head back and groaning up at the ceiling. RJ's laugh is a ghost of hot air against his skin and he traces a line with the tip of his tongue, over to Harry's dick. He licks over Nick's fingers − Nick slows his pace to let RJ move cos getting smacked in the face while moving your mouth over a dick is not an enjoyable experience − before spitting on the head of Harry's cock.

Nick spreads the slick with his fingers.

Harry swallows something thick in his throat and never wants to leave this room. Ever.

Nick comes and Harry comes, both of them coaxed to it with a gentle 'go on' from RJ and the press of a kiss to the tip of Harry's dick, and afterwards the three of them lie there, various body parts touching and the covers too warm to be comfortable underneath them all but none of them moving. Harry's feels sticky and gross and too warm, wants to peel RJ's cheek away from his hip but also never wants him to leave.

From the other side of the door comes Louis' voice.

"Zayn said if you want breakfast, you need to get up now cos Danny's eating everything in sight. And Gemma said you promised not to have sex on her bed again, Styles."

Nick giggles into the crook of Harry's shoulder.

He shouts back, "No, I didn't."

 

+

 

_"Are you sure?" his mom asks for what feels like the millionth time. Harry sighs, as he has done for the last 999998 times before and nods. She hands him a sweater she has carefully folded but it's more of an artfully twisted pile by the time Harry places it in his case. "I could go with you − hang around until you've found somewhere permanent to live."_

_He rolls his eyes._

_"It's ok," he asserts._

_She huffs and Harry knows she's fighting back tears. Gently, he takes the pair of jeans from her hands and places them down on the bed. "LA is so far away."_

_Harry had toyed with the idea of going to Europe, perhaps Asia but ended up settling on LA. For some reasons. But he bites his tongue and doesn't mention this to her. "I'll still be in the country," he assures her. She pulls him in for a hug and he goes with it, flopping in against her, all awkward and embarrassed teenage boy. "I'll call every other day and we can Skype and you can come and visit me when I'm settled."_

_Her shoulders rise up as she sniffs._

_"But you don't know anyone there. I don't want you to be all alone."_

_Smiling against the side of her face, Harry tells his mom, "Don't worry. I'll make friends."_

 

+

 

Last time Harry had looked over, Louis and Zayn were making out. Now, Gemma's head sits in Zayn's lap as he strokes his fingers through her hair. Her whole right leg is out of her skirt − M slit skirts are fucking ridiculous, if you ask Harry.

She catches him staring and asks, "What time is it?" segueing into a conversation and Harry has to lift his eyes from the stag tattoo on her thigh to his watch. (He found it under Nick's bed while he was rummaging under there for his right shoe. Never did find that shoe though.) When he looks back over, Gemma's eyes are closed and she leans further into Zayn's touch as he changes the pattern and begins to draw circles behind her ear. She looks like a large house cat.

He answers, "It's just after 3:30."

Zayn goes, "What?" suddenly dropping into the conversation.

When Gemma angles her head up to look at him, he almost pokes her in the eye. He tips her nose with his pointer finger and mouths 'sorry' but she has been smiling up at him the whole time. He states, "We should probably go."

Harry has to agree.

Grabbing RJ's jacket from the back of his chair, he heads towards the bar to find him arguing with the blonde behind it − Harry thinks her name might be Tanya, maybe Taylor − trying to get, "Just one more, I'm not even drunk," out of her. He slips his hand into RJ's and tugs him away after another thirty seconds because she isn't backing down and if RJ keeps this up, they'll get kicked out and Harry kinda really likes this place.

Outside, Gemma has lit up a cigarette and is wearing Louis' hoodie; it's plum while her skirt is scarlet, the colours clashing violently off one another. Louis pulls Zayn's arm around his shoulders now he is hoodie-less. Harry catches a flash of his stag tattoo before Zayn completely envelopes him − Harry had never realised Gemma and Louis had somewhat matching tattoos before.

"Gimme your board," Gemma begs her brother.

He hands it to her with a quick, "You break it, you buy me a new one." She nods and hands over the end of her cigarette, like they've just sealed a contract.

They start off in a mob, all six of them bumping hips as they walk, dodging around people on the sidewalk waiting for taxis and their friends until they're two blocks away and it's just them. Gemma places the skateboard down on the ground, kicking off and racing across the street before the light changes for the cars; Nick jogs after her, since he is her big brother and all, but RJ holds Harry back, their hands still together from back at the bar.

Too busy making out, Zayn's shoulders pressed up against the graffiti'd wall of an abandoned building and Louis' fingers wrapped in Zayn's white tank top, inside his leather jacket, Louis and Zayn miss the next change of the lights.

Gemma and Nick are speeding ahead of everyone else, jogging and skateboarding and laughing until the wooden lip of the pier catches the front wheels of the skateboard. Gemma goes stumbling off of it but Nick gets his hand around her elbow and pulls her up before she hits the pavement.

Harry tugs RJ along after them.

And Louis and Zayn come shuffling along behind them, attached at the mouth.

The pier is empty of people and birds and any other living creature. It stretches out towards the sea in front of them. They all inhale in unison.

With her foot, Gemma kicks the board fully onto the pier. The sound breaks the silence, snaps Harry back to reality. Turning to her brother, she says, "I will buy you a new one." He doesn't react. Because he doesn't- oh. Harry is the only one to attempt to make a grab for her as she pushes off, and he calls after her:

"What about your phone?"

She doesn't reply.

Louis runs after her, suddenly understanding what is about to happen, and Zayn heads after him, yelling, "This is gonna ruin my jacket."

The skateboard − _Nick's_ skateboard − goes over the edge of the pier first, a split second before Gemma does. Her hoodie − _Louis'_ hoodie, fuck, does anyone actually get to keep their own stuff in this town? − billows out at her sides like wings and she screams out a laugh before disappearing completely.

Harry waits for the splash.

Louis grabs Zayn's hands. They dive right after her.

Nick stands there, turning to face the other two, and goes, "That was my fucking board."

"She said she'll buy you a new one," RJ supplies. He squeezes Harry's hand. Harry reaches for Nick, their fingers making contact just before RJ tugs them both with him. They race down the pier, Harry almost tripping at one point but between Nick and RJ, they keep him upright. It's easy, at 3:52am with just the six of them (ok, only currently the three of them) on the pier, to let himself get pulled along.

"Still worried about Gemma's phone?" Nick asks.

Harry doesn't have time to reply as they run out of wooden slates and jump off the end of the pier, one hand in RJ's and one hand in Nick's.

**Author's Note:**

> here, have [a mix](http://8tracks.com/ossians/just-to-chill) to go with this. you're welcome. i guess.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Boke & Tsukkomi Routine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/853853) by [acuisle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acuisle/pseuds/acuisle)




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